


Cat for a Day

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [30]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Magic, Potions, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-29 17:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: In this mid-season finale, Grif has a plan and enlists Carolina's help. The problem is that Doyle also has a plan for the weekend. And so does Church. It's going to be a very interesting Saturday.
Relationships: Agent Carolina & Vanessa Kimball, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1183436
Comments: 28
Kudos: 65





	1. Cat for a Day Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I have been wanting to write this episode since October 2018. I'm so excited to write it. :D :D I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do! 
> 
> Thanks goes out to Aryashi as always, who's been talking about this AU for over a year with me.

Simmons is halfway through his breakfast when he realizes Grif is watching him.

For a second he tenses, because Grif has been giving him a cold shoulder since his accidental nap. But Grif doesn’t look annoyed or distant this morning. Instead he actually looks happy, his whiskers forward and his half-closed eyes watching Simmons. He’s weirdly relaxed. ...Suspiciously relaxed.

Simmons swallows a mouthful of cereal and says, “You’re, uh, in a good mood.”

Grif blinks slowly. “Am I?”

Simmons squints. He should be glad that Grif is apparently over their fight about Simmons’ continued magic experiments, but instead he feels even more suspicious. “Yes. Why are you in a good mood?”

“Maybe I woke up on the right side of the bed,” Grif says. He blinks slowly again.

Simmons debates saying something, but there’s a yawn building in the back of his throat. He grits his teeth and stifles it, knowing it’ll ruin Grif’s good mood. His eyes water with the effort. He squints towards Grif suspiciously for the rest of breakfast, but it’s not until he finishes his cereal and starts to stand up that Grif says anything else.

“You might wanna sit still for this part.”

“For what part?” Simmons asks, and then yelps everything around him shifts. There’s a disorienting sound in his ears and a wrenching feeling in his stomach like he’s falling. Or maybe he’s not falling at all, maybe everything else around him in tripling in size. He blinks and his vision is different too, the colors muted.

He reaches for his glasses, and an unfamiliar paw smacks him in the nose. Even as he rears back in surprise, something moves into his vision. Whiskers, he realizes. _His_ whiskers. _His_ paw.

“_GRIF!” _

The name comes out as a wail.

Grif peers over the table at him. His expression is smug. “Enjoy twenty-four hours as a cat, buddy.”

“I— what— how—” Simmons sputters, except it comes out as a hiss. He stands on his back legs, and feels all his fur bristle, which is like the hair on his arms and neck standing on end except multiplied by a thousand. Or a million. How much fur does a cat have? His thoughts chase themselves in stunned circles for a minute before focusing on one protest. “_You don’t have magic_!”

“Nope,” Grif agrees. He radiates self-satisfaction. “That’s why I got some help.”

* * *

**The Night Before**

Carolina gets back from shul and walks into the brownstone right as the phone starts to ring.

She’s surprised when Kimball, sitting on the couch with a book in her lap, doesn’t move to get it. As the phone rings again, Carolina sees irritation flash across Kimball’s face and hears the frustration in her voice as she says, “Someone’s been prank-calling. I’m this close to hexing them.” Her thumb and pointer finger are pressed together.

“I’ll get it,” Carolina says hastily, and bolts into the kitchen to grab the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a familiar voice says, “Carolina?”

Carolina blinks. “Grif?” She glances over her shoulder, but Kimball’s picked up her book in the living room.

“Finally! I’ve been getting Kimball and Grey all night.”

Carolina’s stomach tightens. The last time Grif struggled to call her, it was because her dad had shown up at Simmons’ apartment. She instinctively lowers her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Simmons is being an idiot.”

“Uh,” Carolina says, but Grif keeps going, growling into her ear.

“He’s wearing himself out with your dad’s experiments and he won’t listen. He needs a break.”

Carolina frowns. She’s seen Simmons in the hallway at school, looking tired and distracted. “He won’t take a break? But he knows that using magic wears him out,” she objects. Even as she says it, though, she remembers finding him trying to do magic in the woods when all he had was a photocopy of Church’s spellbook and hope. How far would he go now that her dad has figured out how to let him do magic on a regular basis? Too far, probably. She remembers yesterday and winces. “I, uh, did see him walk into a door.”

“Yeah, sounds right,” Grif says darkly. “He’s got tunnel vision, he won’t—” Grif stops. There’s a pause. Then he says, his voice a little lower, “He’s not listening to me.”

Carolina wants to kick herself. She’s been so busy trying to figure out how to get her dad and Church to get along that she hasn’t been thinking about Simmons and his experiments. “I could talk to him on Monday,” she offers, feeling guilty.

“Yeah, that’s nice, but I have a better idea. I need you to turn Simmons into a cat.”

Carolina has to have misheard that. She pulls the phone away enough to blink at it. “You want me to what?”

“Turn him into a cat for a day.”

“Uh—”

Her confusion and lack of enthusiasm must be obvious, because Grif says quickly, “Look, it’s a great plan. We do it tomorrow morning, get him a day as a cat. He’ll sleep twenty hours, wake up and realize how tired he’s been. And it’s a Saturday, so he won’t even miss work.” A pause, and Carolina can hear the grin in his voice as he adds, “You could say it’s gonna be a Catur--”

“Stop,” Carolina says, but her lips twitch a little at the terrible pun.

Grif must hear the amusement in her voice, because his tone turns coaxing. “Come on, Carolina. It’s a simple potion. He’ll thank you for it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Carolina says dryly. It’s definitely not a good plan. But then she remembers Simmons shrugging off almost passing out after the speed spell. She bites her lip. He probably wouldn’t listen to her if she said anything, especially if he’s already ignoring Grif. “It’s a simple potion?”

“Yeah!” Grif says. “Just bring it over tomorrow and I’ll slip it in his breakfast.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks,” Grif says. He sounds relieved. “I’ll owe you.”

Carolina hangs up at the sudden crack of thunder and rumble through the house that means someone’s used the closet.

When she gets into the living room, Kimball’s looking towards the stairs with a frown. “Did Grey tell you she was going anywhere?” she asks Carolina, and then shakes her head before Carolina can come up with an answer. “Never mind.”

Carolina gives a shrug, glad that Kimball is too distracted to talk, and goes upstairs to get her spellbook.

It’s not hard to find the transformation section. There are spells and potions to turn people into cats, dogs, frogs, bears, pretty much every animal Carolina can think of. This particular potion doesn’t seem as simple as Grif claims though.

Carolina reads through it twice and frowns. Maybe she’s looking at the wrong one, but when she flips through the rest of the book, it’s the only one that turns a person into a cat. Most of the ingredients are plants, catnip and something called cat thyme, but there’s also a vial of cat’s curiosity. How is she supposed to get that? She doesn’t want to steal from Kimball or Grey’s magical supply closet again. Plus she doesn’t see anything that sets a limit on the magic, not like when she and Church did the body switch. She really doesn’t want to accidentally turn Simmons into a cat for a month.

Maybe she should get a second opinion on this potion, see if she’s missing something. The problem is that she can’t ask Church. He hates everything about Simmons and her dad’s experiments. And she can’t exactly call Grif back. What if Simmons answers the phone?

She hesitates. She promised Grif she’d do this, but she doesn’t want to mess it up.

Carolina reads over the potion one more time. Then she sighs.

“You want me to help you what?” Kimball says. Her expression is incredulous.

Carolina squirms. She should’ve gone to Grey, but she was worried that Grey would take the opportunity to turn Simmons into a cat for a week as a joke. She tries on a smile. “It’s for a good cause?” she offers weakly. When Kimball’s expression doesn’t change, she adds, “Grif is worried. He’s walking into doors—”

“And falling asleep in the library.”

Carolina blinks. “What?”

Kimball doesn’t repeat herself. Instead she gives Carolina a long look, one that Carolina can’t read at all.

Carolina thinks of Grif’s relief when she agreed to help. When the silence has stretched out for what feels like forever, Carolina says, “Please?”

Finally Kimball nods. “Okay.”

“Really?” Carolina immediately regrets the question. Still, she expected more of an argument. 

Kimball just nods again as she sets her book aside and stands up. She frowns, but more pensively. “Into a cat, you said? That needs cat’s curiosity.”

“Do you have a vial of it?”

Kimball raises both eyebrows. “A vial? A cat’s curiosity can’t be contained by a vial.”

“Oh,” Carolina says, a little deflated. Well, that’s one thing she’s immediately got wrong. It’s probably good she asked Kimball for help. She keeps the embarrassment off her face.

“No, a cat’s curiosity has to be won,” Kimball adds. “I'll do a spell to keep every animal but cats out of the yard for the night and then put a bowl of fish outside. That should bring one of the neighborhood cats around. And while we do that, we can also go to the store and get a fresh catnip plant. That’s much better than powdered catnip for these kinds of potions.”

Carolina nods. She pretends to understand what Kimball’s talking about. As she follows Kimball to the front door, she glances up towards the stairs. She feels like she made the right decision. She just hopes Church doesn’t get mad.

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Earlier**

Church hopes Carolina doesn’t get mad.

The worry gnaws at his stomach along with the other anxieties as he stands in front of Grey’s bedroom door. He can see the light under the door, knows she’s just finished a shift at the hospital. Below him the phone rings for what feels like the sixth time since he got home. He takes a breath. Then he knocks on Grey’s door.

“Church!” Grey says when she opens the door. She smiles brightly, her expression amused but curious. “Was the phone call actually for me, or is some teenage hooligan still tormenting Vanessa?”

“Uh, no clue,” Church mumbles. “I, uh, wanted to ask you about doing something.”

One eyebrow raises. Her gaze sharpens. “Doing something? If that is your roundabout way of asking me to ignore the fact that you’re grounded--”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, not exactly. I….” He takes a deep breath. “I want to use the closet to visit someone. Uh. Not just someone. I want to— I want to meet Carolina’s mom.” The last two words feel weird as he says it, both important and meaningless at the same time.

Grey looks genuinely surprised. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens and shuts before she tilts her head, studying him with even more intensity than before. She doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not for Carolina,” Church says quickly. “Like I’m not trying to get a message to her mom. I, uh, I have been thinking about this for a while, and I think. Uh. I just think it’s something I should do. So I thought. Well. I’d ask. Since it’s your closet.”

Grey still doesn’t say anything. Then she taps her finger against her lips. “And Carolina knows you're going off to see her mother?”

Church winces. He thinks of Carolina’s potential reaction to him getting to talk to her mom when she has another eleven months of separation. “Uh, not exactly. I mean. Not at all.”

“I see,” Grey says.

“So is that a yes or a no? Because I can’t tell.”

Grey gives him another long look, so intent that if he didn’t know better he would swear she was reading his mind. Then she smiles, one of those wide, dangerous ones that spells trouble for someone. “I'll have to adjust the closet, it's locked to the Other Realm right now, but it shouldn't take more than a minute or two!”

Relief hits him even as worry and doubt keep gnawing at him. Well, relief and a flicker of surprise. He’d forgotten witches could do that with closets. He swallows down a nervous laugh, trying not to think too hard about all the nasty places he could’ve ended up if he’d tried to use the closet without permission. “Okay. Um. Thanks?”

A minute later, Grey opens the closet door with a flourish. “Bon voyage!” she chirps.

Church laughs weakly. He stares into the organized closet. His stomach twists. He closes his eyes for a second. He doesn’t let himself remember any of Leonard’s memories. Instead he focuses on the face he sees smiling down from their frames every time he’s in Carolina’s room.

“Right,” he says and steps into the closet.

* * *

**Current Day**

“YOU CAN'T TURN PEOPLE INTO CATS, GRIF! I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS!”

Simmons’ fur is still bristling with rage. He gets distracted by his tail, which keeps slapping his sides as it thrashes behind him. The distraction doesn’t last for long. He can’t believe Grif did this. He also can’t believe that Grif thinks his anger is hilarious, but Grif is giving him a huge feline grin.

Grif snickers. His whiskers are still forward. He drawls, “Just enjoy the vacation.”

Simmons feels the muscles in his legs tense. His ears flatten against his head.

Grif is already moving when Simmons launches himself up. Simmons hits the cereal bowl instead, sending it flying. He doesn’t care. He scrambles, digging in his claws to get up on the table as Grif backs away from him.

“Gonna have to be faster than that,” Grif says, still amused, and then bolts as Simmons hauls himself onto the table.

A growl escapes Simmons’ throat. He tries to speak, but all that comes out in another furious hiss. His wild swipe at Grif’s tail misses by a foot. He races after Grif. He stumbles a little as he goes, half-tripping over his paws, unused to running on four legs.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the back of Grif’s head. He chases Grif around the apartment, through the kitchen and into his bedroom.

“Have fun with it, dude!” Grif calls over his shoulder. “You can jump really high now! You’ll get the hang of it!”

Simmons leaps. He misjudges it completely, and hits the edge of the bed and has to claw at it so that he doesn’t fall flat on his back. His sheets slide with him, and he yowls in frustration.

Grif pauses and turns, grinning at him as his back paws kick the air before he scrambles onto the mattress. Grif’s voice drips sarcasm as he says, “Uh, eventually….”

Simmons growls. Before he can do more than think about lunging and smacking the amused look off Grif’s face, Grif jumps down and runs towards the door.

Simmons makes a running dive off the bed. He’s got his claws outstretched for Grif’s tail when his own tail whips and smacks him in the side of the head. He tumbles, sliding across the carpet and half under the dresser.

Grif laughs again.

When Simmons gets out of the bedroom, Grif is perched on the back of the couch.

Simmons stares up at him, but Grif doesn’t move other than to twitch his tail in challenge. Apparently he’s convinced that Simmons can’t catch him, because he doesn’t budge even as Simmons slinks towards the couch, trying to gauge the distance and figure out how to jump and not embarrass himself. Simmons will show Grif. He’ll catch him and explain exactly why this was stupid—

Simmons slinks through a patch of sunlight from the window. The sun’s heat is like a warm hand settling on his back. The warmth seeps into him. All his muscles relax instinctively and his legs half-fold under him. He blinks slowly, trying to figure out why he’s sitting down. “Wait…” Simmons shifts, but can't bring himself to stand. A yawn escapes him. “Why'd I stop?”

Grif jumps down. “Yeah, it’s a cat thing.” He pads closer, his amusement still there, but there's something else in the twitch of his whiskers too. He sits down next to Simmons, close enough that his body heat joins with the warm sunlight's. “Enjoy your nap.”

“Huh?” Simmons says, but his eyes are already starting to close. The sunshine is so nice, and he’s so weirdly comfortable with Grif curled up next to him. As Grif’s warm, heavy weight settles against Simmons’ side, he realizes that he can’t remember the last time Grif sprawled across his lap.

He falls asleep between one blink and the next.

* * *

**The Night Before**

Cat’s curiosity definitely wouldn’t fit in a vial, Carolina learns. It takes the form of a single crystal the size of a cat’s paw, the kind of crystal you hang in the window that makes rainbows dance across the floor, except it ripples with colors even without sunlight.

“Pour the satisfaction into the cream first,” Kimball says. She seems to be taking this as a lesson as well. Her voice isn’t exactly teacher-like, but has a tinge of authority that Doyle’s very rarely gets. “Make sure it’s slow as possible.”

“Okay,” Carolina says. When the last drop falls into the cream and the white liquid turns golden, she looks up, thinking over the spellbook instructions. Her hand hovers over the other ingredients. “And then three pinches of shredded catnip, and then two pinches of shredded cat thyme, right?”

“Right.”

The leaves dissolve in the golden cream.

“And now the cat’s curiosity,” Kimball says. She dips the crystal into the cream and stirs.

Instantly the golden cream turns translucent like water, except for the rainbow ripples as Kimball pours it into a small vial. The vial has a thick string attached to its stopper that a cat could pull open to pour the liquid. She straightens, looking pleased. “That should do it! All Grif needs to do is pour this into something Mr. Simmons eats or drinks tomorrow and he’ll have a second cat for twenty-four hours.”

“Thanks,” Carolina says. She carefully picks up the vial, watching the rainbow glimmers as the potion shifts. “I’ll take it over during my morning run.”

There’s a sound of displaced air behind her. Carolina doesn’t have to turn to know who’s there. Kimball’s sour expression is confirmation even before Doyle asks, “Good evening, Carolina! I wanted to stop in tonight and see if you were available for a little adventure tomorrow!”

“Uh,” Carolina says. When she does turn around, Doyle is smiling expectantly at her. She tries to think of a polite way to get out of whatever he has planned. “Is it required?” is what comes out.

Doyle’s face falls a little. “Well, not precisely,” he hedges. His gaze darts towards Kimball and falls a little more, since Kimball seems to be too busy actively trying not to glare at him to say anything. He coughs. “I thought it might, ah, that is to say, not that your magical education hasn’t been thorough so far, but, uh, I thought we might add a new...”

“Okay,” Carolina agrees, mostly to put him out of his misery and end the flustered rambling. “But I have homework, so--”

Doyle beams. “Oh, a trip via closet won’t take the entire day from you! Four, five hours at most!” He claps his hands together and nods. “Excellent! Then I shall see you tomorrow.”

He disappears in a flash of golden light as Grey pokes her head into the kitchen.

Kimball’s jaw works for a second, and only loosens when Carolina says, “You know glaring silently at him is kind of weirder than just yelling at him, right?” Then Kimball smiles ruefully and says, “Is it?”

“A little.”

Kimball’s lips twitch again. “Sorry for leaving you hanging. I’ll--” She pauses, glances at Grey, and says, “I’ll handle things tomorrow.”

Carolina almost sighs in relief. At least she doesn’t have to try to get over to Mr. Simmons’ place tomorrow before Doyle shows up again. “Okay, thanks.” Then she thinks of something. “Wait. Is Church going too?”

Grey giggles. She smiles like she has a secret and says, “Oh, I think Church is a _little_ occupied this weekend.”

* * *

The closet deposits Church in a tent. He’s alone for the moment. He takes stock, or maybe just delays the moment a little longer. It’s raining outside. He can hear the drops hitting the tent and the distant rumble of thunder that has nothing to do with the closet.

Outside the tent, people are shouting to each other, their voices urgent but not terrified. Church figures that means he timed things okay. He’s not smack dab in the middle of a disaster, just at either the beginning or end of one. The humid air fogs up his glasses. He procrastinates another minute by wiping the lens. He’s already hot. Clothing comfortable in October in Westbridge isn’t going to work here, wherever here is. He points a finger at himself and hastily changes into jeans, hiking boots, and a T-shirt.

Then he pushes the flap aside to go outside.

He’s shown up at the start of a disaster, he sees, spying the tell-tale signs of flood prevention. People are working together to pile up sandbags and tubes, trying to divert the impending flood. The storm clouds threaten overhead, but there’s still some sunlight. It catches on yellow hair in a familiar ponytail.

Church freezes in place, staring.

His first thought is that Carolina doesn’t look like her that much, except for the way they both hold themselves, that stubborn certainty to their walk and the way they focus completely on whatever they’re doing.

_Carolina narrows her eyes in the same way her mother does, Leonard notices with amusement as Allison bends and explains how she can help with the flood prevention measures. The answer is very little at the moment, since Carolina is too small to carry sandbags, but she demanded to be a part of it. He watches them for a moment, wondering if Carolina is subconsciously or purposefully mimicking her mother’s expression--_

Church’s knees wobble. He closes his eyes for a second, relieved despite the lingering amusement that isn’t his. As far as Leonard’s memories go, that wasn’t the weirdest one Church could’ve experienced. And there’s no horrible, awkward longing or anything muddled about this being _his _Allison. She’s Carolina’s mom.

He doesn’t realize how much he’s been bracing for something completely awful until he relaxes.

Then she looks over and their eyes meet.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Simmons enjoy his nap? What will Church and Allison discuss? And what exactly does Doyle have planned for Carolina? Find out in the conclusion of the mid-season finale!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got longer than expected, but I hope you guys enjoy. :D
> 
> Thanks go out to Aryashi as always, and to creatrix for helping me choose what kind of kitty Simmons would be.

Church keeps staring as she strides over and yeah, she walks like Carolina when she’s mad too. She says something in a language he doesn’t know as she approaches, and then switches to English as he doesn’t react. “Didn’t you see the evacuation signs, kid? You need to get out of here.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Tourists….”

Before he can say anything, she stops. For a second confusion flickers across her face. “Leo--” She stops and shakes her head. “Not Leonard.”

Church opens his mouth. He realizes that he’s been so worried about meeting her that he’s never thought about to address her. His mouth opens, closes, opens again and squeaks out a high-pitched, “Hey, uh, hey Allimom.”

Her expression goes blank with surprise.

Church grimaces. He’s already starting to sweat from the humidity, but now he’s flushed with embarrassment. He mumbles, “I panicked. Crap. I mean Allison?” That feels weird as soon as he says it. “Uh, Mrs. Church?” That feels almost as weird. “Uh, Ms. Carolina's mom?” Crap, he really didn’t think this through at all.

She gives him a look that brings even more embarrassed heat to his face. She says slowly, “How about we go with Tex for now. S'what my team calls me.”

Church licks his lips and nods. “Okay, Tex.” The nickname doesn’t feel too weird. Leonard has never called her that, not even in jest. It’s always been Allison. This feels like neutral ground. “Uh.”

He’s not prepared for her to smile. It’s a thin-lipped, not exactly amused smile, but it doesn’t feel like the sarcastic edge to her voice is directed at him. “So you're the supposed bastard, huh?” She snorts. “Or wait, what did Hargrove call you? A ‘child out of wedlock’?”

“Wait, what?” Church says blankly. Then he snorts. “...Oh, of _course _he came himself to tell you about it. Why am I surprised?” A new worry hits him. He hesitates. “You, uh, didn’t buy Hargrove’s crap, right? Because Leonard--”

Tex snorts. “Yeah. No. I punched him in the face.”

“Of course you did,” Church says. A laugh catches in his throat, though he doesn’t let himself imagine that amazing image. He’s never met Hargrove. Only Leonard has. This isn’t his amusement. He shakes his head. “You and Carolina really like to punch people.”

Tex tilts her head, her gaze searching, and he realizes that was a weird thing to say. Before he can explain, Tex says, “Okay, you're not Leonard's kid, but....” She breaks off with a sigh. The smile fades from her face, replaced by an emotion he can’t quite read. “This is some magic crap, right?”

Church laughs weakly. “Uh, short version, yes. Long version, yeah, uh, you know how you told Leonard not to do something dumb? Well...he did something dumb." He gestures vaguely at himself.

Tex just looks at him for a minute. Then she turns and shouts something to her team, still hauling sandbags around. When she turns back, she’s shaking her head. "Right. Let's get these sandbags sorted and then we’ll find somewhere to talk that doesn't have the potential for deadly mudslides.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Church mutters.

* * *

**Saturday Morning**

Carolina makes a face at herself in the mirror. Then she spends a second grateful that her reflection only makes the same face and doesn’t offer her advice after watching Carolina change between three different outfits.

She wishes Doyle had offered a little more description of the adventure. Are they going somewhere cold? Warm? Should she wear something comfortable and casual or more dressed up? She finally opts for comfortable, jeans and a blue sweater.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door and Doyle calls, “Good morning, Carolina! Are you ready to go?”

“I think so,” Carolina says. When she opens the door, she stares. “Uh. I’ll change.”

Doyle blinks at her and then down at himself, as though he’s only just noticed he’s wearing a black suit and a top hat. It’s like he’s walked off the set of a Victorian era movie. As Carolina studies his vest with stitched golden brooms and cauldrons, he chuckles and says, “Oh! Yes. I should have mentioned the attire. I was just so excited-- Well, I’ll be out here once you’ve chosen something!”

Carolina closes the door and surveys herself in the mirror. Well, she’s definitely not wearing the puffy dresses women wore back then. She doesn’t mind wearing a dress though. She thinks of York’s present, the blue ribbon. She reaches for it, pulling her hair away from her face.

“Excellent!” Doyle says heartily when she walks out wearing a blue dress that matches the ribbon. He gives her a little half-bow, offering her his arm. He’s smiling, excitement obvious. “Let’s be off!”

It’s impossible not to smile back, even if Carolina doesn’t know what he’s so eager to show her. She accepts his arm and together they enter the closet.

The lightning flash momentarily blinds her. As Carolina blinks, she sees they’re standing on green grass in front of a large castle. It has arches and pale red and pink stones and a tower that rises above the building. Carolina gives it a second look, but there’s no moat, just a large garden surrounding it full of vibrant flowers. When she glances up, she almost gets dizzy. There’s sunshine, but above the pale blue cloudless sky she can see stars, like someone has taken two photographs of different horizons and fused them together. She looks back down again, focusing on the flowers.

From the corner of her eye, she sees three people walking together, the two men in top hats and suits and the woman wearing a black dress with an explosion of black and silver feathers at the neck like an enormous collar. Maybe Carolina should’ve worn a Victorian dress after all.

Doyle waves at the castle with a flourish and says, “Welcome to the Luminous Theater!”

“A _theater_?”

Doyle laughs at the incredulousness in her voice. “Yes! Not one of the oldest, it's only been around since the fourteenth century, so it’s relatively young in the grand scheme of things, but, well, it was the one my father took me to when I was young, so I suppose I’m inordinately fond of it.” He smiles up at the theater, and then starts down one of the garden paths, explaining over his shoulder, “It has a rather interesting history. Its owner, Eliphas Spencer, was ousted from the Council and built the theater as part of an elaborate revenge plot that never came to fruition. Instead Eliphas discovered a true love of theater!”

“What was the revenge plot?” Carolina asks, curious now as she follows him. The smell of flowers fill the air, both familiar and foreign.

Doyle laughs. “Oh, that could be an entire play itself! If you want, we’ll go by the shop before we leave and I’ll get you a copy of Eliphas’ memoirs. It’s a fascinating read.” He’s gesturing as he walks, looking the most relaxed she’s ever seen him.

“So we’re going to a show?”

Doyle nods. “I thought it would be a nice change of pace.”

Carolina actually hasn’t had much experience with the theater, but this sounds way more fun than another one of Doyle’s quizzes. She smiles a little. “Yeah. Thanks. So what are we seeing?”

Doyle brightens when she asks. “It’s called _The Five Seasons_. It's a classic witch play with similar but slightly different tropes you might be accustomed to in the mortal realm, but with a bit of drama and excitement!” He looks up towards the theater. Some wistfulness creeps into his face. “I would love to see how the theater puts on a Shakespeare play, but my attempts at bringing mortal playwrights to the attention of witch theaters has been met with...limited success, alas.”

“Really?” Carolina asks. From what she understands, Shakespeare seems like a pretty universally liked guy.

Doyle sighs. “In retrospect, perhaps having The Tempest as Shakespeare's introduction was not the best idea…. The ending was intensely disliked.” At her blank look, he says, “The witch gives up his magic.”

“Yeah, I can see that not going great,” Carolina says dryly.

Doyle gives an embarrassed laugh. “Yes. Well, perhaps someday I can make another attempt and choose a more appropriate play!” He looks up at the theater again. “In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one.”

As he launches into a convoluted story about the playwright that involves a genie and a long-lost brother apparently missing for two centuries, he resumes walking down the garden path.

Carolina follows.

* * *

Simmons shifts against him, and Grif wakes up from his own nap. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep that fast, just in case Simmons somehow woke up two minutes later and the plan went sideways, but between the sunlight and Simmons’ warmth, he’d fallen asleep about five seconds after Simmons.

He blinks slowly, pleased with himself. The plan is working great so far. Sure, there was the curve-ball of Carolina getting Kimball’s help to make the potion, but Kimball went along with it and only gave Grif a _small_ heart attack when she showed up in the apartment to deliver the potion. But Simmons ate his cereal like a chump, and fell for the sunbeam trick, and now is finally getting the sleep he needs.

Simmons twitches.

A glance up towards the wall clock says it’s only been three hours. Grif feels a stab of annoyance cut through his satisfaction. If Simmons is waking up already--

Then Simmons makes a ridiculous, snuffling sound.

Grif realizes that he’s still sound asleep, just twitchy even as he dreams. Probably dreaming about still chasing Grif around. Maybe he can jump better in his dreams, Grif thinks, amused.

He lets himself look at Simmons, now that he’s awake and Simmons is asleep.

Simmons has fur as red as his hair and one of the fluffiest tails Grif has ever seen. He’s also ridiculously long, currently stretched out in the sunbeam like he’s trying to soak up as much of the sun as possible. As Grif watches him, his paws flex and his tail twitches, and he makes another little noise in his throat. Little old ladies would probably pick him up and coo over how cute he is.

Simmons’ ear twitches. It’s almost annoying how good Simmons looks as a cat. He’d probably win blue ribbons at cat shows. They could make some easy cash, just letting judges admire him. Right now he looks content and relaxed, so deeply asleep that Grif yawns just looking at him.

He’s considering joining Simmons for another nap when there’s a knock at the front door.

Grif holds his breath, but Simmons doesn’t wake up. He starts to relax.

Then the front door opens and Leonard walks in.

* * *

**Friday Evening**

A heavy raindrop hits Church between the eyes as he groans and passes the last sandbag to Tex. His arms feel like overcooked noodles. When Tex volunteered him to help with the sandbags, he didn’t know how heavy sandbags were or think it would be this much work. He wipes at his forehead as Tex starts to heave the sandbag on top of the pile.

She gets the sandbag up, but the one next to it isn’t secure. Forty pounds of sand slide off the barrier, about to hit Tex’s foot and probably break a couple bones.

Church points hastily. Blue light sparks off his finger.

The sandbag’s fall slows. Tex grabs it and wrestles it into place with an annoyed grunt. Then she turns towards Church. Her mouth twists, the same look Carolina gives him when she thinks he's being too flashy with his magic. “You always do that in public?”

“What?” Church asks, a little distracted. He frowns at his finger. He’d meant to stop that sandbag completely. Maybe his subconscious had remembered he was surrounded by mortals? He shakes his head. Or he’s just tired after hauling a million sandbags around. “Uh….”

“Come on. We’ll talk in my tent.”

“Yeah,” Church says. The earlier nervousness returns. The tent is small and compact and clearly built for one person in mind. He perches awkwardly at the edge of the cot and fiddles with the water she gives him.

“Drink it,” Tex orders.

“Okay.” Church takes a few halfhearted sips, then lowers the bottle. “So, uh.”

Tex sighs. She crosses her arms. “What did Leonard do?”

Church grimaces. He debates going into details, decides Tex probably doesn’t want to hear them, and sums up his existence with a shrug and a, “Leonard, uh, made me by accident and I stuck around.”

“Made you by accident,” Tex repeats.

“Think, uh, a clone except I’m not him.”

Tex snorts. One corner of her mouth turns up. “Yeah, kid, I figured that out in five seconds. You're kind of short to be Leonard.”

“Hey! I might still grow!” Church protests. He inwardly frowns. Has he grown in the last year? He’s never thought to measure himself. He makes a mental note to start doing that when he gets back to the brownstone, muttering, “...Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.”

“So why did you come to visit?”

“Uh.” Church fiddles with the bottle. “I wanted to, uh. Talk to you. About, uh, Leonard.” He takes a deep breath. He tries to assemble his thoughts in order, but instead the words tumble out in a rush.

“You know him better than I do, even if I have some of his memories-- uh, long story, I'm trying to forget them-- but I just don't get him at all. Carolina needs him, and even though he was super pissed he accidentally made me, I still thought he'd at least-- okay now he's visiting every week, but he's just. He's weird. I don't know what he wants or why he's doing anything. Sure, I figured that first year was just one long panic attack for him, but now he’s. He ignored me for a year and now he's asking me things and being _curious_ and it's-- and this whole thing with Simmons is. Uh. The Council will seriously mess with him about Simmons, and he's got like only another eleven months before you two and Carolina are a family again, so why-- it’s a stupid risk, and he keeps acting like I should understand the cost-benefit analysis of helping a mortal learn magic, and just. He can't keep it together for two years? He's lived a thousand!”

He stops, breathing hard.

Tex is silent for a moment. Then she sighs. “So he’s not doing great, huh.” There’s a faint frustration in her voice, but zero surprise. Only the crease in her forehead and her clenched jaw betray her concern.

“Nope.”

Tex paces around the tent. It’s awkward in such a small space, but Church doesn’t waste his time asking her to stop. “We talked about this,” she mutters. “Just get through it and--” She stops. “Should’ve kicked Hargrove in the crotch too, while I had the chance.”

“Next time you see him,” Church offers.

Tex laughs. It’s still got an edge to it, but she stops gritting her teeth. Instead her smile is slightly dangerous. “Good plan.” Then she looks at Church, and her expression softens further. “And Carolina?”

Church is not going to be the one to tell her about the whole Felix thing. He settles for, “She’s good. I mean, she misses you a lot, and most of the time she thinks magic is stupid, and she punched her quizmaster the first day they met, but, uh, she joined the track team, and she’s got a couple friends, and she found a good shul, so. Yeah.” He hesitates. “I didn't tell her I was coming. I couldn't pass along a message, because--”

“Yeah, the Council. I get it.” There’s that edge to her voice before she raises an eyebrow. “Track? Really?”

Church grins at her. “Yeah, don’t pretend to be surprised she’s a jock. Leonard’s outnumbered.”

“Sure, I figured she’d play a sport, but track? That’s just running around in a circle.”

“That’s what I said!” Church says, still grinning. “But there’s apparently jumping too? And throwing javelins?” He shrugs. “She likes it. And she’s good! They almost won nationals last year, and she’s gonna-- what? What’s with the face?”

Tex is watching him with an amused look. “Nothing,” she says.

Church squints, but she doesn’t say anything else. He tries to refocus. He didn’t come here to talk about Carolina, even if he’s happy to give Tex an update and give Hargrove and the Council the finger without breaking any rules. He came here to talk about Leonard. “Okay. Uh. So. About Leonard. I don't get him at all. Even with some of his memories in my head, I don't. What's his problem?”

“What’s his problem?” Tex repeats with a small twist of her lips.

He flushes. “You know what I mean. I just don’t get him.” He thought he had, between Leonard being Carolina’s dad and the memories that still sometimes hit Church like a freight train, but he doesn’t. He doesn't understand why he's working with Simmons or what his curiosity about Church means, or why he's making any of the choices he's making at the moment.

Tex studies him. “You keep talking about having some of his memories.”

“Yeah, but they don’t help.” Church grimaces, trying to figure out how to explain. “At first it felt like I had all of his memories and it was...hard to be myself. But it’s been a year. Now it’s more like everything was just a dream I don’t really remember, except an image or an emotion sometimes.” Or occasionally a flashback, but he’s grateful that those are rare. “And I can remember certain stuff, like some spells he learned instead of me, or rules, or that Hargrove is a jerk who deserves that kick in the crotch, but it feels different.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how to describe it, it just is. And none of it helps me understand the guy.”

“You remember emotions? Then you should get that whatever Leonard is doing, even--” Tex pauses and snorts. Her voice is both fond and exasperated when she says, “--_especially_ if he's doing something stupid, is for his family.”

“How is this helping his family?” Church demands, his voice rising.

Tex shrugs. “No clue. Maybe he sees a loophole? But I know Leonard. He makes mistakes, but he tries to do the right thing. S'why I love him.” She says the last sentence easily and matter-of-fact, like it’s the most natural and obvious thing in the world.

Church feels...not jealous, exactly. He doesn't want her in any way that Leonard does, but something twists in his stomach at the surety in her voice. Caboose used to say he was Church’s best friend in that same confident way, but now Church can’t remember the last time he did. It’s an unexpected pang of loneliness, even if he knows Carolina has his back.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, slouching and fidgeting with his water bottle. Time for a change of topic. "Seriously, you punched Hargrove in the face? Did you break his nose? Carolina always breaks noses when she punches someone.”

Tex tilts her head. “...That sounds like it's happened multiple times.”

Church grins. “Oh yeah. Like three. And then she almost strangled Simmons!”

Tex looks both amused and slightly concerned. “Why is she beating up people?”

“Well, did Leonard tell you about quizmasters?” When Tex nods, he says, “So yeah, there’s that dumb tradition where the quizmaster shows up the morning after the witch’s seventeenth birthday in their bedroom and, well-- pow!” He mimics a fist punch to someone’s nose.

Tex smirks. “That's not how you punch someone, and I know Carolina knows better.”

“Huh?” Church blinks as she reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“Can’t rely on magic all the time, kid,” Tex says, grinning. “Let’s teach you how to punch someone without breaking your hand.”

* * *

Vanessa keeps out of the way as Doyle knocks on Carolina’s door. She stays in the kitchen, trying not to hold onto her coffee mug too tightly as the familiar sound of the thunder-crack of the closet teleportation spell fills the air.

She doesn’t know what Doyle has planned, but hopefully it’s not a disaster. She takes a sip of her coffee and then glances at Emily, trying to distract herself from the stomach twisting frustration she always feels when even thinking of Donald Doyle. “Where did you go last night?”

“Me?” Emily says. She giggles. “Oh, I didn’t go anywhere! That was Church!”

“_Church_?” Vanessa repeats. She glances up towards the ceiling. He hasn’t come downstairs in search of food, but it’s a Saturday. He usually sleeps in until eleven or noon, when he gets hungry enough to climb out of bed. “And why, exactly, did you let Church use the closet?”

Emily smiles. Vanessa knows nothing good will come from that smile, but she’s still not prepared for Emily to brightly say, “Oh, he went to see Carolina’s mother!”

“He went to _what_?” Vanessa stops and takes a breath. “You know what, I can’t even yell. I just helped turn Mr. Simmons into a cat for a day, at Carolina and Grif’s request….”

Emily stares at her. Surprise and then delight lights up her face. She beams. “Vanessa!”

Vanessa shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “No. Don’t look so happy. This was a one-time thing. I don’t exactly make it a habit of using magic on mortals.” When Emily just keeps beaming, Vanessa adds, “I only did it because Mr. Simmons needed a rest and, well, because Carolina asked.”

Emily tilts her head. Some of the amusement fades, replaced by a pensive look. “Yes, Church approached me directly as well.”

Vanessa nods. She smiles slightly ruefully. “It was nice to be asked.”

“It was!” Emily agrees. Another quick smile flashes across her face. “Also I thought it would be a _fascinating_ conversation.”

Vanessa starts to speak, and then narrows her eyes. “Did you spy on them?”

“Only for a minute!”

“Grey--”

“I was curious!”

“That’s an invasion of privacy,” Vanessa reminds her.

Emily taps a finger against her lips and smiles. There’s a teasing note in her voice when she says, “Need I remind you that you turned Mr. Simmons into a cat?”

Vanessa shakes her head. She feels an all-too-familiar blend of amusement and exasperation as Emily keeps smiling. “I shouldn’t have told you about that. I regret it already.”

“Oh, you should! I am going to use it against you for, hm, oh yes, the remainder of our time as guardians.”

“Wonderful,” Vanessa says. She points a finger at Emily, who looks ready to start giggling again. She puts on as serious of a face as she can muster. “But seriously, don’t spy on people.”

“I make no promises,” Emily says and takes a satisfied sip of tea. Then she raises an eyebrow, mischief quirking the corner of her mouth. “You wouldn’t even spy on Donald and see what his grand adventure with Carolina entails?”

“Stop being a bad influence!” Vanessa says even as she laughs.

* * *

**Saturday**

Leonard stops. He stares, his eyebrows rising as he looks at Grif and Simmons. “Richard was due at the leyline an hour ago. He’s always been prompt, so I thought something might be the matter.”

Grif glares. All of his satisfaction goes sour. He stands up, keeping close to Simmons, and growls, “He’s fine. He’s sleeping.” He can’t quite help the bitterness as he adds, “You can have him back on Monday.”

The surprise leaves Leonard’s face, replaced by a look Grif can’t figure out. He looks at them both for a moment. Then he nods slowly. “...I see.”

“So get lost,” Grif says. He keeps an eye on Simmons, but Simmons is still dead to the world.

“Very well,” Leonard says evenly.

Grif blinks. He was expecting more resistance than that. He doesn’t relax, eyeing Leonard warily, trying to figure out what the guy’s thinking behind that unreadable expression. What’s the catch?

“I have just a few questions before I go.”

There it is. Grif snorts. “Just keep your voice down.”

Leonard frowns down his nose at him. Grif can see the second Leonard decides not to call him out for not playing decent host while Simmons is asleep. Instead Leonard says dryly, “I presume you had help with the potion.”

“Yeah.”

Leonard waits a moment, as though he actually expects details. When Grif doesn’t say anything, he surveys the room again. Whatever he sees makes him nod again. “And whoever helped will be returning later to feed you?”

“...Crap,” Grif mutters. He’s been so focused on getting the potion that he didn’t think about what two cats and no one with opposable thumbs for a day meant. He tries to play it cool, but he licks the tip of his nose twice in annoyance before he mumbles, “I’ll figure out the fridge.”

Leonard’s disbelieving look has Grif bristling even before he says, “Tell Richard I will see him on Monday.”

Grif eyes him. He caved weirdly easy. Maybe he’s running himself ragged with these experiments too? Grif doesn’t know him well enough to know if he seems more tired than usual. Grif decides to press his luck. “Wednesday sounds better.”

That just earns him a slight frown and a mild, “I’ll expect him on Monday. He and I will discuss any further changes to the schedule.” Before Grif can argue, Leonard crooks a finger.

Behind them, a cupboard opens. Grif glances back instinctively.

When he looks back, Leonard is gone.

Grif glares. “I should tell Simmons Wednesday anyway,” he mutters to himself. Then he looks over at Simmons, who’s still sound asleep. He sighs and flops down next to him. Some of his bad mood goes when Simmons instinctively shifts closer, his sleeping cat brain wanting that body warmth. He curls his tail around Simmons’. With any luck, Simmons will keep sleeping for another couple of hours. Maybe get a whole eight hours in one go, like normal people do.

Grif will figure out what they can eat from that cupboard later.

* * *

If Carolina is being honest, she doesn’t like going to the movies. She’d never admit it to her friends. They’d just tease her about it like they tease her about her hatred of the Slicery. Besides since the Felix thing and her being grounded, it’s been a moot point. But she didn’t really enjoy them when she went. The screen was always too bright, the music and sound too loud, and half the time she was distracted by everyone around her eating popcorn and whispering.

Seeing theater feels different even before the play starts. There’s music, but it’s a soft background sound as Carolina and Doyle find their seats. She opens up the playbill and scans over the list of actors, none she recognizes of course. She barely knows American actors, why would she know witch ones? She turns the page and has read the first paragraph before she realizes it’s summarizing the show.

She snaps it shut, confused, and whispers, “Why do they spoil you in the playbill? Are we not supposed to read them until afterwards?”

Doyle looks puzzled. Then his eyes widen. “Oh! No! It’s-- You know, I’m really not sure why they do that? But if you want to watch the show unspoiled, you’ll want to skip that page!”

“Okay,” Carolina says and keeps the playbill closed. All she knows about _The Five Seasons_ is that it’s a drama that involves a romance between two witches from families who have hated each other for over a thousand years. She hesitates. “You said there are common witch tropes. Is fighting families one?”

“Oh yes,” Doyle says with a chuckle. “After all, it has its basis in history! Magical families with grudges were an enormous problem in the past!” He glances around and lowers his voice. “And a few still cause some issues today….”

“Seriously?” Carolina asks.

Doyle nods, and then turns towards the stage as the curtains open. The rest of the audience quiets as well, and Carolina can feel the anticipation as the curtains reveal a dozen people in old-fashioned dresses milling around.

The language is a little old-fashioned too, but in the way Doyle talks, and a little like the way Church used to before he adapted. Carolina can still follow it as the people gossip about the witch family who’s debuting their youngest son as being of marriageable age.

Then Carolina sits up, turning to look as the golden light glows in the aisles. The light expands, forming a shimmering pathway that must be solid, because two men sweep down it.

The older man is smiling. He lets out a booming laugh. “Come on, little brother, you needn’t look so nervous! Mother and Father will hardly turn this party into an impromptu wedding! Everyone merely wishes a look at you.”

“Wonderful,” says the younger, clearly no less nervous than before. Together they walk the shimmering gold path that turns into steps that lead them onto the stage.

Carolina glances at Doyle, but he’s focused on the stage, clearly absorbed.

That’s not the only bit of magic in the play. When Edward first sees Elizabeth across the crowded room, Carolina feels time stop. The audience, Edward, Elizabeth, and the witch casting the spell watch together in the frozen moment as the two weave through the still dancers to introduce themselves. Elizabeth turns out, of course, to be the only daughter of the rival family.

The first act culminates in a fantastic battle scene that has Carolina on the edge of her seat. She knows it’s mostly illusion magic, or at least she hopes it is, because of a lot of the spells seem dangerous. Some of them are funny, though. Carolina laughs when one witch is turned temporarily into an enormous, startled chicken. That would’ve been a great one to use on Felix.

Then the older brother, Anthony, steps forward. The laughter is gone from his face. He points a hand towards the matriarch of Elizabeth’s family and snarls, “I curse you and your kin! Let all realms be closed to you but ice, for your heart is as cold!”

Green erupts from his hand, but Elizabeth darts in front of her grandmother and throws up a glowing red mirror. The green light crashes against Elizabeth’s spell and rebounds.

Edward has only a moment to stare as the green spell strikes his chest. Then he’s gone.

“Edward!”

The protest comes from Anthony and Elizabeth both, and the curtains fall.

Carolina lets out a deep breath as conversations begin around her. It’s definitely more intense than watching a movie. The people are so present, and even though she knows it’s a play, it’s hard not to get drawn in. She’s glad she didn’t read the rest of the summary. She wants to see how it ends for herself.

“Are you enjoying the play?” Doyle asks.

When she looks at him, he’s smiling hopefully at her. It’s impossible not to smile back. “It’s pretty good. How do they keep from doing real spells on stage? And I don’t think some of those spells were in my book?”

“Oh well, mistakes do happen, but magic is so often about intent. So long as an actor remembers they are in a play, the illusion magic won’t go amiss! Also, you probably wouldn’t have seen most of those spells in your spellbook. Many theaters have specialized spells that are a finely kept secret for their productions.” Doyle hesitates. “So you do like it.”

“Depends on if it has a happy ending or not,” Carolina says, deadpan.

Doyle blinks. “Well, tragedy is a time-honored tradition in both mortal and witch plays-- oh, you’re joking.” When Carolina smiles at him, he chuckles.

Act Two begins with Anthony and Elizabeth alone on the stage.

“I killed him,” Anthony says. He looks down at his hands as though they belong to a stranger.

“He isn’t dead,” Elizabeth insists. She reaches out to him, and he steps away. “He can survive some time in the Realm of Ice.”

“And who would rescue him?” Anthony asks bitterly.

“Me.”

And that must be magic too, because Elizabeth’s whisper carries to every ear in the house.

Anthony laughs. It’s an awful sound, low and venomous. “_You_? The only way to survive the Realm of Ice is to go through the five seasons first, and it’s a rare witch who survives even the least of those. You would risk your life six times over? For him?”

“I love him,” Elizabeth says steadily. “And even if I did not, I wouldn’t condemn anyone to such a fate.”

Anthony says nothing for a moment, but some of the despair leaves his face. “Well, if you mean it, then I will help you however I can.” He presses his hand to his chest. His hand glows green. Then a shining green jewel appears in his hand.

Elizabeth stares. “A piece of your heart? But--”

“It will help you find Edward once you get to the Realm of Ice, and help guide you both home.”

When Elizabeth starts to protest, Anthony presses the jewel into her hand. “Go.”

Elizabeth magics the jewel onto a chain around her neck and goes.

There are five seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter, and magic. Carolina experiences them all with Elizabeth. In spring, flowers bloom and smell sweet under her shoes. In summer, the summer’s warmth and light briefly fills the theater. In autumn, Carolina tastes warm apple cider on her tongue. In winter, cold stings her nose and nips at her fingers, frost blanketing everything in a silver white for a second before dissolving into nothing. In the realm of magic, she’s half-blinded by the glow that illuminates every person in the theater, magic in every shade of the rainbow.

And then, with the boons she has won from every season, Elizabeth enters the Realm of Ice.

Carolina can feel the chill when Elizabeth finds Edward, his heart frozen. Icicles dangle from his clothing and frost lingers in his hair, unmelting. He stares at her without recognition.

Elizabeth endures the cold to touch his cheek, to kiss his blue lips, and to finally press the piece of Anthony’s shattered heart against his chest. The green gem glows, illuminating Edward’s face as he blinks and says, his voice soft, “Elizabeth?”

When the curtain drops on the brothers reunited and Elizabeth and Edward set to be married, Carolina claps along with the rest of the audience.

Beside her, Doyle is vibrating with excitement, clapping for every single actor as they take their bows. Afterwards as he escorts Carolina from the theater, he says, “So you really enjoyed it?”

“Yeah,” Carolina says, smiling. “I didn’t know magic could do a lot of that!”

Doyle stops. He’s put his top hat back on, but now he fiddles with the rim of it. His smile doesn’t exactly fade, but his expression turns intent. “Yes. That’s one of the reasons I brought you to the show today.” He pauses. “I admit I was surprised to learn that you have never visited the Other Realm….”

Carolina frowns.

Doyle winces slightly and adds hastily, “I don’t mean to suggest Vanessa and Emily are less than excellent guardians! Even witches who deeply care about half-mortals can forget to show them that magic is more than a burden.”

“I,” Carolina says, and stops. She feels vaguely like she should defend Grey and Kimball, but there’s a ring of truth there that makes her uncomfortable. Magic still feels like a responsibility, something to learn so that she can see her mom again.

Maybe some of that shows on her face, because Doyle smiles anxiously. “The Other Realm really has so much to offer you, Carolina. And there’s so much you can do with your magic. It’s not all studying and rote memorization! Spellwork can be truly fun, as the youths say.” He waves towards the theater. “It can create marvelous things like _The Five Seasons_!”

”As the youths say?” Carolina repeats before she can help herself.

“As the, ah, teenagers say,” Doyle amends, though in a slightly doubtful tone, as though he’s still not certain of the wording. He smiles. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show! Perhaps we’ll see another one with Church. I suppose he didn’t, ah, see much theater on Europa.”

He looks so enthusiastic that Carolina feels a little bad about it. Just this morning she’d been annoyed at whatever Doyle had planned, and he was trying to help her enjoy her powers. He’s not just some guy giving her pop quizzes. "Yeah, I don't think he's seen much magical theater. Maybe we should.”

Doyle beams. “Excellent! Well, you probably have schoolwork and spellwork, so let’s get you back home, shall we?” He gives the theater one last look, and adds, “Perhaps you might ask Vanessa and Emily about their favorite experiences and places in the Other Realm.”

Then he snaps his fingers and teleports them away.

* * *

Simmons wakes slowly. The feeling of being well-rested, waking up to no headache or muddled thoughts, his body free of aches and pains, is almost unfamiliar. He can’t remember the last time he felt this good.

He starts to stretch and stops as Grif grumbles at the movement. He does remember the cereal and the feeling of shrinking down to cat size, that patch of sunlight hitting him like a shot of melatonin. He opens one eye and flexes a paw. Yeah, still a cat.

He should be mad. Grif transformed him without permission. But his mind feels clear for the first time in weeks. He really has been running himself ragged. It feels weird, waking up without a sense of urgency that he doesn’t have time to do everything he needs to do.

Simmons opens both eyes. Grif is curled against him, one paw resting lightly on Simmons’ back. His grumbling must have been involuntary, because he seems sound asleep. Each slow breath tickles Simmons’ whiskers. Simmons presses closer with a sleepy contentment. Grif smells _good_, like the rest of the apartment. Simmons rubs his cheek against Grif’s cheek gently, trying not to wake him, but Grif wakes anyway with a little snort.

“Simmons?”

The surprise in Grif’s voice wakes Simmons up the rest of the way. If he could blush, he would’ve. “Uh.”

Grif blinks. Then he snorts again, his whiskers going forward in amusement. “Cat instincts, dude. They’ll get you every time. Hammer was super pissed when I clawed all of his nice furniture.”

“Right,” Simmons mumbles. Relief banishes most of his embarrassment. Cat instincts. They explain everything: the nap, the nuzzling, and now the reluctance to move away from Grif. He licks the tip of his nose. “You turned me into a cat.”

Grif tenses, his ears flicking uncertainly. His tone is casual when he says, “Technically I just asked you to get turned into a cat. Others did the dirty work.”

Simmons tries to get annoyed again, and still doesn’t find it. Instead he thinks about how good he feels after however many hours of sleep. He shifts a little, makes a sound in his throat that even he doesn’t know what it means. “Grif. So, uh. I guess I needed that nap.”

“You need this nap,” Grif corrects. “We’ve still got like seventeen hours left.”

“I don’t think even cats can sleep for twenty-four hours straight,” Simmons protests automatically. He hesitates, trying to figure out how to tell Grif he was right, and then startles a little as his tail slaps the floor next to them. “Uh. Anyway. In hindsight, I was trying to do too much. I’ll, uh, figure out a balance between school, magic, and, uh, hanging out.”

Grif sits up. His paw slides away from Simmons’ back. He stares intently. “You will?”

Simmons stares back, confused by Grif’s intensity and also stomping down on the cat instincts that say Grif is challenging him. "Yeah. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I thought--” He stops, embarrassed. Of course Grif didn’t want him to quit doing magic completely. It seems stupid now that he’s thinking clearly. “...I was a real jerk."

Grif stares at him for another second. Then his whiskers go forward. “Nah. Just being a dumb nerd.”

Simmons tries to roll his eyes and realizes he can’t. “Thanks. That’s definitely better.”

Grif grins and stretches.

Now that Simmons isn’t distracted, he notices that Grif is bigger than him, wider and bulkier. Simmons blinks, wondering what that means. The logical conclusion is that Grif is taller than him when they’re both human, but--

“What?” Grif asks.

Simmons realizes he’s staring. “Nothing.”

Grif gives him a look, but says, “So what do you want to do now? Take another nap?”

“We’re not sleeping the whole twenty-four hours, Grif. I’m serious.”

“Your loss,” Grif says, amused. He stretches again. He glances sidelong at Simmons. His tail gives a little twitch. “Maybe you can learn how to jump.” Then he bolts, jumping up onto the couch and then up to the top of it, turning to smirk down at Simmons. “No wait, learn to _cat_apult yourself!”

Simmons half-laughs, half-groans at the pun. “That’s awful.” Then he leaps, hoping to catch Grif by surprise. It doesn’t work. He scrambles onto the couch and mock-growls as Grif laughs.

Then they’re back to racing around the apartment.

Simmons feels wide awake and the best he’s felt in weeks. He’s faster on four paws than before. His jumping doesn’t seem to have improved, but that might just be Grif’s fault. Simmons keeps getting distracted by the steady stream of cat puns Grif keeps tossing over his shoulder, each one worse than the next.

“Come on, you know you wanna join in,” Grif calls. He snickers. “Or does the cat still have your tongue?”

“Ugh,” Simmons says through laughter. “How many cat puns do you know?” He lunges as he asks, but Grif darts away. Simmons misses, but he still feels a spike of satisfaction when his paw skims the tip of Grif’s tail.

Grif darts into the kitchen and then leaps onto the seat where Simmons ate his spiked breakfast. Then he hops onto the table and stops. “Okay, time out.”

Simmons tries to stop and goes skidding across the linoleum, almost sliding face-first into the wall. Embarrassed, he starts to clean his paw before he stops himself. He blinks up at Grif. “Time-out? This is because I almost got your tail, isn’t it.”

“Nah, I’m hungry.” With that, Grif jumps onto the kitchen counter. He stretches up to the cupboard, sticking his head inside, his tail twitching.

Simmons resists the urge to jump at Grif’s tail. He follows Grif up to the table and onto the counter. He peers inside as well. He sighs at the sight of a bag of chips. They can probably tear that open. "We're gonna make a mess, aren't we?"

"Probably," Grif agrees.

One mess later, Simmons stretches out on the couch, licking the salt from his paws. He feels tired again, but a good way, like how you feel after exercise. He yawns, wondering if it’s time for another nap.

Grif flops down next to him.

Simmons instinctively moves closer.

Grif settles against him, a warm, steady weight. His tail twitches and then curls around Simmons’ as he half-closes his eyes. When he takes a deep breath, Simmons can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Simmons is so comfortable. He feels a contented pressure build in his chest and a strange noise in his ears, but it’s not until Grif looks at him that he realizes he’s purring, a low rumble of sound that there’s no way Grif can’t hear.

Simmons feels his fur bristle with embarrassment.

Then Grif starts purring too. His purring has a crackling quality to it, like static, but it rumbles with enough force that Simmons can feel it. “Uh,” Grif says, and licks his nose.

This is weird, Simmons thinks. Even with cat instincts, it’s probably weird. But Grif doesn’t say anything else, just keeps purring, and Simmons keeps purring, like they’re in some awkward purring feedback loop. And the sound _is_ soothing. It rumbles in Simmons’ ears and relaxes him despite the embarrassment.

Grif stays where he is, just purring and darting quick glances at him, his ears flicking back and forth. After a long moment, Grif closes his eyes and goes to sleep. Well, pretends to. Simmons is pretty sure cats don’t purr in their sleep.

This is definitely weird. But it’s still kind of...nice.

Grif is pressed up against him, close enough that Simmons can still feel him purring. All of Simmons’ instincts tell him that they’re both safe, that they’re both happy. Simmons feels himself sink into a half-doze, unconsciously tucking his paws under his body, pressing even closer to Grif.

He gives Grif a lick behind his ear, and then falls asleep to the sound of Grif still purring.

* * *

**Friday Night**

Church’s fist lands with a thud into Tex’s hand.

It doesn’t rock her back even a little, but he sees a satisfied grin spread across her face. “There. You got it. Just get some muscle on you and you might actually break someone’s nose someday.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna exercise,” he tells her. “Also? Probably gonna use magic.”

Tex snorts. “Okay.”

Church grins, and then yawns. It’s been a long night, between hauling sandbags around and punching at Tex for what feels like an hour. He has no idea what time it is, here or back at the brownstone.

Tex gives him an appraising look. “Drink some more water,” she says. When he finishes off another bottle, she says, “So I’m assuming you have a way to get back home?”

Church blinks. “Oh, uh, the closet put me in a tent. Just need to go back there, and I can use the effuvium to help me teleport back.” He sees the blank look on her face. “Yeah. Magic stuff.”

“Magic stuff,” Tex says with a quirk of her mouth. Then she offers Church her hand.

He stares before he realizes what she wants.

Her handshake is firm, as firm as her voice when she says, “You watch her back.”

There’s no question about who she means. It’s not even really a question, the way she says it. He still meets her eyes and says, “Yeah, of course.”

Tex smiles. “Good.”

“Can I--” The question sticks in his throat. He hesitates.

Tex looks at him for a second, and then nods and claps him on the shoulder. “Next time you visit, though, check before you show up. Don’t want you visiting in the middle of a monsoon.”

Church nods slowly. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

He must look surprised or something, because Tex laughs. "Hey, you said Carolina broke a couple noses, and I only heard about one. Gotta come back and tell me more. And keep working on that punch. I want to really feel it next time.”

“I--” His throat’s tight. He coughs. “Okay. Sounds good.” He almost tells her to stay safe, but he doesn’t trust his own voice.

He turns to go, and pauses when Tex says, “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“What should I call you?”

Church blinks and stares. “I didn’t--” He replays their conversation. Laughter bubbles up from his chest, pushing past the lump in his throat, and he throws back his head and snickers. “Oops. Yeah. I didn’t. Church.”

“Church,” Tex repeats.

Church grins at her. “It was either that or Jimmy.”

“Church it is,” Tex says, smiling back.

When he gets to the tent, there’s someone sleeping there. Church tiptoes past the guy, and then closes his eyes and concentrates on the brownstone and his bedroom. He can’t feel it in the air, but he knows effluvium from closet teleportation spells tend to stick around.

He points his finger at himself, still concentrating, and teleports.

Church opens his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom. The only light is his alarm clock, glowing red numbers that show he’s up way too late, even as the teleportation spell tips him from tired to exhausted.

He doesn’t bother to change, just drops onto the bed. He’s asleep before he can even think to kick off his shoes.

* * *

**Saturday Evening**

Carolina doesn’t mean to talk so long about the play, but when Grey asks during dinner what her little adventure entailed, she finds herself describing pretty much the whole thing.

“There were so many little magic things too. Not just the big stuff. There weren't any electric lights, but there were some floating orbs above us like stage lights that moved around.” Carolina shapes the orbs with her hands, remembering the graceful way the orbs moved until the fight scene, at which point the orbs darted frantically around, matching the intensity of the whirlwind spells and fighters. “Some of them followed actors and changed color during the different seasons. It was cool.”

“It sounds like you enjoyed it,” Grey says, smiling. She hums thoughtfully to herself. “I can’t remember the last time I attended the theater! Perhaps we should all go together.”

“Sounds better than the usual pop quizzes,” Church says. He’s slouched in his chair, looking sleepy as he shovels food into his mouth. Carolina, remembering Grey’s vague words the night before, eyes him and wonders what he did today that has him looking half-awake.

“Oh! There’s a theater that includes mythical creatures in its performances for a little authenticity! I remember one show where an actual unicorn--”

“They closed down last century, remember?” Kimball looks slightly amused. Carolina’s glad to see it. Kimball’s spent most of Carolina’s explanation looking hard to read. “After the phoenix burned the theater to ash three performances in a row.”

Grey blinks. “Oh, yes. Well, I’m sure there are some interesting theaters out there we could try. And dear Donald is on the right track. We really should be introducing Carolina and Church to more Other Realm culture!”

“Doyle did have the right idea,” Kimball admits. Her jaw tightens when she says it.

Grey giggles and winks at her. “A broken clock, in your opinion?”

Kimball doesn’t rise to the bait, just says, “We should visit the Other Realm more often. There’s so much to see there.”

Grey claps. “Oh! We could take them to the dragon sanctuary! And to visit Shangri La! Such a charming place. Oh, we could do a little food tour. There are these special madeleines you can only get--”

Some of the tightness leaves Kimball’s face. “They do still have school and spellwork,” she reminds Grey.

“But--”

“We’ll do something over winter break.”

Carolina glances at Church, expecting to see some excitement at potential vacations. Instead he still looks half-asleep. She leans over and nudges him. “What did you do last night? You look exhausted.”

“I--” Church snaps his mouth shut. His eyes slide away from her. “Tell you later.”

Carolina frowns at him, and then refocuses as Kimball clears her throat and says, “Speaking of discussing things, Grey and I have been talking about your punishment.”

Grey laughs. “We did the math. It’s been almost two months since the incident!”

“The incident,” Kimball repeats, looking briefly distracted. “Not exactly the way I’d phrase it, but-- right. It’s been two months.”

“Yeah,” Church mutters. “Out of a century, right?”

Grey giggles. “I’ll admit we were a little excessive! Even most witch parents would have gone with a year or two. But when you make foolish choices and keep secrets that risk yourselves and most of Massachusetts, you have to accept the consequences!”

“Which you have,” Kimball adds. She leans forward, glancing between Carolina and Church. “And both of you have learned to ask for help and make much better choices.”

Carolina feels a pang of guilt at that, thinking of Libby and Kraft. She keeps it off her face as Kimball continues.

“We think both of you have learned your lesson. And we don’t want the rest of high school to feel like a prison for you.”

Grey laughs. “What Vanessa is trying to say is consider yourselves no longer under house arrest!”

“Wait,” Church says. He straightens out of his slouch. “We’re not grounded anymore?”

“Exactly!”

Church grins. “Awesome!” His eyes light up. “Tucker was talking about going to a concert in November. If I can still get a ticket, can I go? His mom’s taking him.”

“We’ll talk to Tucker’s mom,” Kimball says.

Church’s grin widens like she’s already said yes.

Carolina sits up straighter too. Something like relief flutters in her stomach despite the lingering guilt. She hasn’t realized how trapped she’s felt the last two months until she has freedom again. “Can I call Wash and Niner and let them know?”

Kimball smiles at her. “Finish dinner first.”

Carolina smiles back and starts eating.

“Good idea. I wanna call Tucker and Caboose,” Church says. He starts shoveling food into his mouth, giving Carolina a sideways grin. Judging by the teasing gleam in his eyes, he’s definitely planning on beating her to the phone.

Carolina narrows her eyes at him. She eats faster. When they both finish at the same time, Carolina bolts for the phone, sprinting as Church yelps and jumps out of his chair. She beats him to the phone easily.

“Aw, come on,” Church says, sulking.

Carolina laughs. “I’ll keep it short.” Then she dials Wash’s number. “Hey, guess who isn’t grounded anymore?”

* * *

**Sunday Morning**

Simmons loses track of time. When the transformation starts, he's stretched out in another patch of sunlight, Grif curled up next to him. He ends up almost banging his head against the coffee table as everything seems to shrink around him. He blinks up at the ceiling, and then at Grif, who leans over him and eyes him a little warily, his ears flicking back and forth like he's worried Simmons is going to be annoyed now that he's human again.

Simmons isn't. Annoyed, that is. Well, he isn't _that_ annoyed, except for how Grif admitted earlier that Doctor Church came by around hour four of Simmons being a cat. Embarrassment momentarily twists his stomach. He hopes Doctor Church doesn't ask about it. But he still feels well rested even as a human, his mind clear. As he sits up, wiggling his fingers and trying to get rid of the faint conviction he should still have claws, he smiles at Grif. “Good news. Now that I have hands again, I can make us actual food.”

Grif blinks at him. Then he relaxes. “Chips are real food, Simmons.”

“Chips are a snack.”

“Says you.”

“Or we can order pizza and watch a movie.” Simmons blinks as he thinks about the muted colors he experienced as a cat. “Wait, my vision was like a cat's. I couldn't see all the colors. I thought you said you could see normally.”

Grif's ears prick up at the first sentence. At the rest of it, he snorts. “Yeah, difference between a simple potion and Council punishment. Being a familiar is bad enough. The Council wouldn't make us lose half the colors for ten or a hundred years. Just like onions won't kill me.”

“...Wait, would onions have killed me?”

“No clue,” Grif says. As Simmons contemplates how weird his life has become, Grif taps him with his paw and asks hopefully, “So, pizza and a movie?”

Simmons shakes his head. “Right. Yeah.” He reaches out and scratches under Grif’s chin. Then he freezes as Grif purrs. He doesn’t think about the weird purring feedback loop. He gives Grif one more scratch under the chin and then gets up. For a second he’s disoriented by the size difference, remembering how big Grif had seemed when they were both cats. He shakes his head again. “So. Uh. Meat lovers’ pizza?”

“What other kind is there?”

Simmons pretends to think. “Well, we didn’t exactly eat healthy yesterday. We could do a veggie pizza--”

Grif groans dramatically. “Simmons!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fun trivia fact:** When the writers proposed the episode, they also proposed keeping the cat casting for Simmons secret. There was an idea of writing up a fake casting call for a new show, until someone reasonably pointed out they could just do a discreet search among the animal trainers' circles. They eventually found two cats, one for the stunts and one for the slower paced scenes. Things worked out really well -- apparently Grif's cat actor and Simmons' cat actor in the snuggling scenes got along so well that some of their purring had to be edited out for the voice overs. Sort of a Marlon Brando in The Godfather situation!

**Author's Note:**

> What will Allison think of Church? What does Doyle have planned for Carolina? Will Simmons sleep the entire twenty-four hours he's a cat? Find out after the commercial break!


End file.
